Red Ribbon
by Thomas Tom Tom
Summary: 1700s AU. (Also my first AU.) The owner of a small shop in an English village is visited by a tall stranger who is not all that he seems. RobRae with Nice!Slade. (which is a thing now.)
1. A Traveller and a Gentleman

**A/N: This is my actual first actual AU. So, I'm putting this up as a pilot/test thingy. Show some love, tell me how it is, and maybe you'll get more.**

**Peace out - Tom.**

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**Red Ribbon: I**

The man rode his horse along the road. He clip-clopped over the rough dirt track, worn from centuries of use.

When the people started to appear on the road, he knew he was close to a town. Some of them, evidently humble farmers, waved a greeting, and he tipped his black tricorne hat to them, a wry smile sparkling on his shadowed face.

He wasn't clothed gaudily, in a simple dark coat with faux-silver buttons up the sides, and grey breeches with brown gaiters over tall black riding-boots. His black hair was tied with a red ribbon.

The man whistled to a nearby labourer, ploughing a field with the aid of two thin horses. "Is there a town nearby?" he asked, to ensure there actually was a town and he wasn't accidentally riding into an Army camp or a fort or something equally disastrous.

The dark-tanned man looked up and gestured with his thumb in a sort-of north-westerly direction. "Aye, that's Chessington. No' more than a hour's ride, guv."

The dark rider, after some hesitation, flipped him a small silver coin and nodded his thanks.

The farm hand pounced on the coin, rubbing it with his dirty fingertips. "Ta, milord. 'Member, just down t' road, straight as the arrow, as t'were."

The ploughman's assessment proved accurate, as little under ten minutes later the faint image of a small hamlet fluttered into view. The man cracked a small grin; finally, somewhere to stay without feeling hunted.

* * *

Everyone in town knew young Miss Rachel Roth. The pretty girl with the slightly lilac-grey eyes ran a small apothecary's shop in the centre of town, selling various herbal remedies and cures for common diseases.

She was actually getting tired of the constant greetings - "Mornin' Miss Rachel!", "A fine day, Miss Rachel, so it is.", "Dear me, Miss Rachel, have you heard about this-that-and-the-next-thing which happened to so-and-so this week-end?" - that were directed to her every morning.

So she mainly just stayed in her shop and read, tending to whatever customer who might enter. Business wasn't booming, but she made a living.

The bell on her shop's door trilled and she looked up from her book.

There stood the town's blacksmith, a bulky Hessian named Victor who had moved to Chessington far earlier than anyone could remember, and as such had lost all but a twinge of his native Germanic accent.

"Good morning, Miss Rachel. Would you happen to have any of your fine-" he started, but Rachel interrupted him.

"I've told you before, it's just Rachel for you, and yes, I do have some of that poultice for burns. Why don't you wear gloves?"

Victor looked sheepish and rubbed the back of his clean-shaven head. "I do not really notice the heat."

"Well, you should." she scolded. "And tell Garfieldthat his horse medicine is ready. In fact, tell him it was ready _last week_."

"Of course, Miss Rachel. I'll have that Colonial halfwit on his way in no time!" Victor said, tipping her a wink.

True to his word, Garfield, a short, brown haired stablehand from the American Colonies, awkwardly stumbled in the door a few minutes later. "'Pologies, Miss Rachel, but Ah was down at the stables a' day and must've forgotten to swing by." he bumbled in his ridiculous accent.

"That's all very well, Garfield, but the medicine takes up far too much space which I need for my other supplies, and you know that. But, this should last for a good month or two. So don't come back until you've entirely run out." Rachel handed him a saddlebag full of small paper sachets of herbs.

"Much 'ppreciated, Miss Rachel. Ah'll try not to be so late next time."

"See that you aren't." she said, shooing the poor boy out of the shop and settling back down to her book.

She was interrupted, again, by an incredibly tall girl with an insane shock of bright red hair and quite unnatural green eyes wearing a purple tartan dress who burst in the door and then patiently waited for Rachel to sigh theatrically, put her book on the counter and ask "What is it that you want, Karyan?"

Karyan Daers was locally known as "that wee slip of a thing who lives up over the way and were communin' with faery folk and suchlike", although Rachel (and Victor and Garfield) knew she was just a slightly strange girl who had an odd Celtic background and a barely understandable grasp of the King's English.

"Well, dear Raven-bird (only Karyan called Rachel this, but was remarkably cryptic about the whole affair), I was in looking for some of your rooms of mush. I am needing of some for my broths, as I am running of the short and tending to be using them with great speed."

"You want mushrooms for some soup?"

"Precisely. Also, you are having some of the crystals that can be found upon the rock face to the north?"

"I'm afraid not. You could ask Victor to mine some out for you?" Rachel suggested as she handed over a wicker basket of brown mushrooms.

"That is a splendid idea, Raven-bird, I'm so glad that it was thought of."

And with that she turned, left a few archaic and a few modern coins on the counter, and flew from the shop, leaving the little bell on the door ringing madly at the sudden rush of air.

Rachel settled back down to her book. Hopefully, this would be the last of her interruptions today.

* * *

Sadly, it was not to be. The little bell on her door ringed quietly as someone gently pushed the door open, allowing the sounds of the recently arrived rainstorm into the shop, then carefully shut it behind him and walked over to the counter, boots clunking rhythmically on the wooden floor.

"Excuse me, Miss Roth."

Rachel looked up to see a dripping wet red-coated soldier, a red sash around his waist denoting his status as an officer.

He took off his bicorne hat to reveal greying hair and a black patch over his right eye.

"Yes, Mr...?" she asked.

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant Wilson, miss. His Majesties' Army. I'm here to warn you about a highwayman who's been seen around this area."

"A highwayman? What interest would such a vagabond have in my little shop?"  
Lieutenant Wilson chuckled a little. "Very true, milady, but they have been known to rob well-to-do stores such as your own. I'm merely to remind you to shutter up your shop after you close up, not that I would need to, careful girl't you seem."

"I'll be sure to follow your advice, Lieutenant, and alert one of your fine men if I notice anything suspicious." Rachel said, nodding.

"Thank you kindly, miss. Ah, but you remind me so of my own little Rosie. Goodnight, miss, and stay safe."

The lieutenant clunked over to the door and left with the same care as he had entered. Rachel walked over to the small window and watched as the soldiers marched away, undoubtedly to set up camp a little outside the town.

* * *

As the soldiers left, a lone rider came trotting into the square. He dismounted his horse, patted it, hitched it to a post outside the local inn (which Rachel knew for a fact was full up with the seasonal farm workers) and then trudged inside.

About five minutes later, she watched him emerge from the inn and walk through the downpour to her own shop.

She heard him knock on the door, and she stepped briskly over to open the door.

He slipped into the shop, closing the door behind him as fast as possible in order to keep the store as dry as he could.

"Evening, Miss...uh...Roth?" he asked.

Rachel nodded.

"Well, um, the innkeeper tells me he hasn't a room to spare, and he told me that you had somewhere?" he said, reaching up to his hat. "I appreciate that you might not, and even if you did, you wouldn't go letting it out to a wanderer who couldn't pay you in anything but his coat buttons, but..."

"I do have a small room at the back where I keep the dry goods. You could have that, if you wanted." Rachel smiled.

The man took off his hat, and Rachel could see his hair was tied in a simple knot by a red ribbon. Then she saw his eyes – the brightest blue, although having lost some of their sparkle for a more weary look. Her breath hitched in her throat.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, before Rachel coughed and looked away.

"Oh, am I staring? Sorry. People say I tend to do that." the man said, scratching at his rough stubble and looking down. "I'm very sorry, but I can't remember when I last slept, and as a consequence, not much of this conversation, sorry. Were you about to throw me out of your shop, or...?"

"N-no, no, of course you can have the back room. For as long as you need. It's no inconvenience, really." Rachel stammered.

"I can't thank you enough. But, uh, if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired. May I?" the stranger requested, gesturing towards the back of the store.

"Oh, of course. Though," Rachel said, hands on her hips, "I shall need to know your name, 'wanderer.'"

"Richard." he said, a wry smile sparkling on his face. "Richard Grayson."


	2. An Interruption of the Celtic Kind

**A/N: Changed title as it was horrible and clunky. **

**Put in a Pirates of the Caribbean reference because I'm just that cool.**

**Made Starfire, like, incredibly omnipotent and awesome. Somehow. **

**Keep the feedback coming. I NEED IT  
**

**Tom**

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**Red Ribbon: II**

Rachel rose early, as she usually did, and made herself some breakfast.

She suddenly remembered Richard, and chastised herself for not going to see if he was awake yet.

He probably wasn't, but it would do no harm to check.

When she opened the door to her store cupboard, she was surprised to see a distinct lack of her lodger. However, he had evidently left a note sitting on a barrel. Rachel picked it up and began to read.

"_Apologies, Miss Roth, but I have left the premises to find some way to get myself some breakfast, as I could not ask you to provide some for me; it would not be right. Please do not touch my hat._" it said.

She put the note back down on the barrel and looked around for the hat, which she found seated on a crate.

Rachel shook her head tiredly and drifted back through to the shop-front.

It occurred to her that she had best go and ask for Victor to fix the broken window latch, if there really was a highwayman-housebreaker on the loose. So she found her cloak and boots, put them on, and stepped out into the cold morning air.

* * *

As she made her way down the main street towards Victor's smithy, she met that lieutenant (what was his name again? Wilson?) and two of his men, one wearing red and the other wearing green.

"Good day, Miss Roth." the lieutenant said, nodding to her.

"Yes, quite." she yawned. "How goes your patrol, gentlemen?"

"Nuffink yet, but the day's young." the Redcoat on the left replied, leaning on his musket.

"Aye! Mister Wilson sir, when's we gon' see some action? I want t' shoot somethin'!" the Greenjacket on the right asked the officer, stroking his Baker rifle.

"Shut up, Lawton." Lieutenant Wilson said tiredly.

"Aye sir." Lawton said, hanging his head.

Rachel started off again. "I can see you've your hands full, Lieutenant. Good luck catching that highwayman."

"Pleasure, Miss Roth." Wilson said, smiling and tipping his hat. "Now come on, you two, before I put y' both on a charge for t' next two weeks. Move!"

Rachel eventually reached the blacksmith's, after being harangued for about three minutes by the useless town crier Roy, telling her that a coach owned by Alexander Luthor had been robbed the night before about four miles out of town, until she told him she really didn't care unless the country was at war with Prussia and there were Black Watch in the church.

"Good morning, Miss Rachel." Victor greeted her, hammering away at what looked like a sword blade.

"Who is that sword for, Victor?" she asked, pointing.

"This? This is for that lodger of yours. Came by at near enough dawn with a broken sword and asked whether I could fix 't or not. Course, I said yes, but it surprised me what a fine blade it is. Gave me the iron and all to complete the repair. A strange fellow, he is." Victor said, dipping the blade into a bucket of water and sending steam all over the forge.

"Says the man who invented the compass that doesn't point north."

"That was a complete success! Karyan still uses it, does she not?" the smith said defensively, taking the blade out of the water and continuing to hammer it.

"And does she ever end up where she is planning to go? However, I didn't come just to prattle with you, I'd like my shop's window latch fixed as soon as you can. I don't wish to take any gambles with this highwayman about."

"Of course. I'll have 't fixed up by the noontime. And," he said, seeing her about to take out some money to pay him, "don't you be getting on about paying me. Call it a favour."

"Oh, if you insist. Where did Richard head off to after he gave you the sword?"

"Richard? I don't know a Richard." Victor stopped hammering and wiped his brow.

"The lodger."

"On first name terms are we? That was quick."

"What are you implying?" Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"Nothin'. Anyway, I think your _Richard _went t' get his horse stabled up, on account of 't blocking the main street. I would visit Gar, over at t' farm."

* * *

Sure enough, Rachel found the tall man sitting on a cart rifling through a brown satchel while Garfield stroked his black horse.

"What'cha say her name was, Mister Grayson?" Garfield shouted over.

"Cassie." Richard replied, not looking up.

"She's a real beauty and no mistake, Mister Grayson. Fast too, Ah take it?"

"Very."

Rachel cleared her throat.

"Miss Rachel! Would y' be lookin' for your lodger an' his fine horse?" Garfield asked.

Richard pulled a grubby half-crown out of his satchel and held it up triumphantly. "I knew I had something left."

He leapt off the cart and strode over to Rachel. "Yours, for letting me stay the

night." he said, closing her hand over the big silver coin.

"A half-crown is too much just for letting you sleep in my cupboard."

"Well, then consider it payment for not making me sleep on the front step." Richard said, smiling. "Speaking of your cupboard, you didn't touch my hat, right?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Excellent. Allow me to escort you back to your store."

"If you must."

On the way back to the shop, Rachel noticed posters being put up on every available wall, tree and post in sight. They all showed a portrait of a man with a domino mask over his face and a red ribbon or handkerchief around his neck, with "**WANTED: The RED ROBIN for HIGHWAY ROBBERY, PICK POCKETING and HOUSEBREAKING in the COUNTY of WORCESTERSHIRE**" written under the picture.

A well dressed man in an expensive purple jacket walked by them, and Richard stumbled over something and into him, knocking him off balance.

"Ach! Kindly watch where you are going, sir!" the man exclaimed angrily.

"A thousand pardons. I was not watching my footing and as such that was entirely my fault, sir. Here, take this as an apology." Richard said, slipping a pound coin into the man's hand and simultaneously walking backwards away from him.

When he and Rachel were out of the man's earshot, Richard asked "Who was that?"

"That," Rachel said, pointing up behind her, "was the ridiculously rich man who owns that country house at the top of the hill up there. He hardly comes into town, and _you _had to trip into him."

"Would you have preferred I challenged him to a duel on the spot for walking in such a rich and superior-looking way?"

"You make a sound point." Rachel said dryly.

Richard opened the door to the apothecary's and they entered to find Karyan sitting up on the counter, dropping knucklebones from one hand and catching them between the fingers of her other, repeating "Robin-bird, robin-bird, robin-bird. Who is being the Robin-bird?" quietly under her breath.

She noticed Richard.

"It is you! You are the Robin-bird!"

Richard froze. The blood drained from his face and his knees grew weak.  
"I'm sorry, what?" he said in disbelief.


	3. Karyan's Vision

**A/N: Hey, and I'm back with another part of this AU.**

**My beta tester is even less fond of Beast Boy/Raven than me, and wants me to shoot Garfield in the chest and leave him to bleed out on the road, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.**

**Why don't you people get my many and brilliant references? (Or if you do, why do you not mention noticing them?) Like how Red Robin robbed aLEXander LUTHOR's carriage? And how the rifleman called Lawton is actually Floyd Lawton? You know, Deadshot? And the fact that I'm totally hinting at Richard stealing all that rich guy's cash?**

*cries*

** Enjoy and stuff. Review.**

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**Xaphrin: I actually think I'm allergic to description. Also, how is this peculiar? **

**Psychic** **soul****: Oh I am having SO much fun. It should be illegal.**

**IceQueen two-one-nine-six****: Ta, and yeah, I rock. **

* * *

**Red Ribbon: III**

"You are the Robin-bird." Karyan repeated.

"Karyan, what are you talking about? Are you saying Richard is...the highwayman?" Rachel asked.

A look of utter confusion passed over the Celtic girl's face. "What are _you _talking about?"

A silence broken only by the faint chiming of the windchimes hanging outside the shop door stretched out until Richard took a few breaths and then asked Karyan to explain. Slowly.

"I have been," she said mysteriously, swinging herself up and off the counter and landing with barely a sound (it was as if she didn't land at all), "looking into the crystal."

"Crystal?" Rachel asked.

"Yes, the crystal. The ones one might be finding out upon the cliff face."

"The ones you were asking for yesterday afternoon?"

"Indeed. I convinced the mine girl who resides in the forest to be doing the mining for me. What is her name being again? Tara? Oh, but it does not matter. As I said, I have been looking into the crystal while inhaling the incense of mushrooms. And last week, I witnessed a vision."

She paused for dramatic effect.

"A 'vision' of _what, _exactly?" Richard asked impatiently. Karyan tutted and got back to her story.

"I am hanging very high in the air, like a star, and I see a lone raven-bird flying. Some time later a robin-bird flaps over and they fly together for a time, but then a hunter, dressed in green, shoots the robin-bird. I was trying to be, how do you say, unravelling, this mystery, and now I can see that it is you who are the Robin-bird. So. Stay away from men in green jackets when you are in the fields, Robin-bird. Goodbye!"

Karyan floated out of the shop, trilling the windchimes and leaving an awkward silence behind her.

Rachel finally broke said silence. "Well, that was anticlimactic."

"I would have said traumatic. I thought I'd be set upon by Lieutenant Wilson and his merry men and they'd give my boots to Jack Ketch." Richard said, taking a few deep breaths. "Instead I'm to avoid men in green jackets."

"Lieutenant Wilson would most likely have simply had you shot." Rachel said, locking the door and stepping up the stairs to her bedroom.

"How reassuring." Richard called after her.

"Obviously. Now I do hope you sleep well on your box, Mr Grayson. Goodnight."

Richard shook his head and weaved his way to the back of the shop, miraculously evading jolting a shelf and having hundreds of glass bottles smash on the ground.

* * *

When Rachel woke up she found Richard in the front of the shop, wiping what looked like blood off his hands into a bucket of water.

"Cut myself shaving." he said (a little too quickly) when he noticed her interrogative look, gesturing to a long horizontal cut on his right cheek.

"Do you normally shave with a _sword, _or by _shooting yourself, _Mr Grayson? That cut looks far worse than a mere razor nick."

"All right, all right. I was cleaning my sword, which your blacksmith did an excellent job repairing by the way, and I slipped and somehow managed to hit myself in the face. You have my full permission to laugh."

Rachel just raised an eyebrow as if to say "_Really, you are a complete idiot." _and took a small satchel from under the shop counter.

"Let me see. You're most likely to just make it worse." she said, waving him over.

"I'm insulted that you assume I can't patch myself up, Miss Roth." Richard said, shaking the water off his hands.

"Be quiet and let me look."

The cut was quite rough and ragged, although not horribly deep. Rachel cleaned it (with numerous winces from Richard), but he insisted that she refrain from sewing it up because that would leave a scar, and remove his only method of gaining lodgings with beautiful young women. She blushed a little at that and Richard smiled his sparkling smile. Which didn't help.

After a breakfast of bacon which Garfield had given Rachel out of pity and a piece of cheese from Richard's knapsack, the two parted, Rachel to make her daily visits to people who needed medicine, firstly some mother who required a cough mixture for her young daughter and Richard to go to the inn (Rachel suspected it was in order to find something to do and therefore pay her for letting him sleep in her store cupboard).

* * *

On the tired way back from her rounds, three pounds and seventeen shillings in her bag, she ran into Lieutenant Wilson and his cohort Lawton.

"Miss Roth." the lieutenant said, a slight edge to his voice.

"Lieutenant? Is something wrong?" she asked. "Did you find your highwayman?"

He nodded. "We had him by the neck last night, but he got away."

"Aye, miss. Mister Wilson 'ere took a shot at 'im wiv his pistol, but he only grazed 'im." Lawton put in. "An' old Johnny R bought the farm, 'swell."

When Rachel looked confused, Lieutenant Wilson clarified the military slang. "He's dead. Red Robin killed him."

"Oh, dear! I'm so sorry about your man." Rachel said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to be getting back to my shop."

"Aye. Pleasure as always, Miss Roth." Lieutenant Wilson said, tipping his hat and ordering Lawton back onto patrol.

* * *

With the recent exchange with Lawton and Wilson still on her mind, the images of the hooded man staring at her from every angle unnerved Rachel greatly.

She felt inexplicably calmer when Richard fell into step beside her with a smile on his face.

"Mr Grayson, did you hear that the Red Robin was just outside the town last night?" she asked, looking up.

"Apparently he killed a Redcoat who tried to stop him. Why, Miss Roth?"

Rachel sighed. "I'm just a little uneasy about having a killer roaming the countryside."

"I've got a pistol you could take if you're worried. Of course, you always have me and my valiant sword at your service at all times."

He bounded up onto the porch and opened her shop door with a flourish. She rolled her eyes and stepped through the threshold.

Rachel hung her cloak and bag of herbs and medicines on the hooks she had had Victor install specially, walked over to the shop counter and deposited her takings into strongbox hidden behind a sliding panel (also designed and installed by Victor) before standing up.

"Here." Richard placed a slightly old and weather-beaten – but definitely well looked-after – flintlock pistol on the counter. "Take it if you need it, I've got another. Careful, it's loaded."

"Why do you have two pistols, Mr Grayson?" Rachel asked, gingerly picking the heavy pistol up and giving it a test aim.

"It's dangerous on the roads." he said, but didn't elaborate further. "Now, you feel free to go away to bed, Miss Roth. I think I need a walk."

He walked her up to her room and then disappeared downstairs.

From her room, Rachel just heard him picking something up and the rustle of cloth before she gave up listening to him and fell asleep.


	4. Shot Through The Heart

**A/N: Finally found my muse for this story, and have tied it to the floor to prevent it going missing again.**

**Reviews! Excellent!  
**

**Moonlight: Is it amazing? Well, it can only get better, right?  
**

**Velgamidragon: Really? This is your favourite time period? Why? **

**Psychic soul: I called him Red Robin because I wanted to make him a fusion of Red X and Robin, but then I figured I might throw Red X in as a Redcoat. I will actually finish this before I start something else big (hint hint) so yeah.  
**

**ChaosMaster: Eh? I don't see it. (that is probably because I've never read The Great Gatsby) **

**IceQueen: Good work keeped up. If this is good. Which is debatable.**

**Xaphrin: Sorry to let you down, but this one has ABSOLUTELY NO SETTING DESCRIPTION AT ALL. 100% action, baby! Also romance.**

**Enjoy, and mention my references to make me happy. Oh, and I think I referenced Arrow accidentally.**

* * *

**Red Ribbon: IV**

Red Robin flew across the rooftops. He saw every tiny detail of the night: the tarnished silver buckles on the jackets of the Redcoats vainly patrolling for him; a stray thread on the hats of the men who trudged from the pub to their homes in the driving rain; the unlocked window on the fine house across the street.

He grinned. Too easy.

Robin leapt across the street, coat flying in the wind. He landed with barely a sound on the balcony and slid up to the window, opened it, and silently dropped inside and onto the landing.

He looked left and right. Downstairs, a maid was trying to lock the main door, waving off a persistent red-haired suitor, evidently a Greenjacket missing his jacket. Upstairs, a girl with odd pink eyes (wearing the green jacket in question) sat in front of a mirror, stroking her softly purring black cat which sat on a desk.

Robin's eyes instantly locked onto the fine ruby pendant she wore; in the shape of a bolt of lightning, it was likely a gift from the red-haired man.

Past her shoulder, Red Robin saw his target: a locked safe.

The maid had finished locking the door, and she was about to turn up the hall to clean somewhere when a dart flew through the air into her neck. She suddenly felt very faint, and fell to the ground.

She was caught by a man clad all in black, with a hood and a mask over his eyes.

"What was that? A tiny dose of water hemlock, miss. You'll wake up tomorrow, and think this was all a dream..." he said, lowering her onto the floor as her world darkened.

Red Robin left the maid on the floor and crept up the stairs. He slunk up past the pink-eyed girl, taking care to stay out of the mirror's field of view, and was almost to the safe behind her when she suddenly span around with a levelled pistol.

"Don't move, scum."

It was not a very large or indeed dangerous pistol; merely one of the tiny pearl-gripped ones that fashionable ladies in London or some of the other cities would carry for minimal protection, but it was still a pistol, and Red Robin didn't move.

His right hand twitched towards his belt where his own pistol was.

The girl seemed to notice his tiny movement, and shot him through the chest.

Shock filled Robin as he fell over into what he dimly recognised as his own blood. The cat yowled and the girl kicked him in the stomach.

Inwardly screaming in pain, Red Robin picked himself up, smashed the girl's head off the desk, knocking her out; then leapt out of the closest window.

He fell hard on the ground, rolling and sprinting off as Redcoats mustered from all sides, levelling muskets and yelling. Robin ran up some badly stacked crates by the side of the butcher's, swung off a pole meant to hold an awning and hit the roof running as musket balls pinged off the slates with a man with a red sash and an eyepatch climbed up after him.

Red Robin pulled his pistol out of his right holster, leapt from the roof and, mid leap, span and fired his pistol; hitting his pursuer in the right leg, who toppled off the roof and fell into a swarm of his comrades. Red Robin landed on the ground and disappeared at a ragged run towards the only place he knew to go.

* * *

Rachel was woken by the sounds of gunfire, and hurried downstairs with her blue cloak wrapped around her. She opened the door to her store cupboard (not that she was _worried _about Richard, she told herself) saw the bloodied figure and opened her mouth to scream.

A black-gloved hand clapped itself over her mouth.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Rachel." Red Robin whispered hoarsely. "Just, please, don't scream."

He released his hand.

"How do you know my name?" Rachel whispered back, voice shaking.

"Because you know mine." Red Robin replied, in that same pained whisper, and pulled back his hood to reveal messy black hair tied in a blood-red ribbon.

"R..Richard?" Rachel breathed.

"Yes, it was me. It was always me."

Every moment she had ever spent in Richard's company flashed though Rachel's mind. The dark horse, "stumbling" into the man in the street and suddenly becoming rich, the strange appearance of money the maids talked about, the odd wound on his cheek, the two pistols, everything.

Everything fitted.

"Tell me why I shouldn't call for Lieutenant Wilson right now." she said, taking a step towards the door.

"Because he's a liar, and I'm too handsome to die at the hands of Jack Ketch."

And he smiled that sparkling smile, and all Rachel's fear and anger melted away.

* * *

"Who shot you?" Rachel asked, as she bandaged Richard's blood-stained chest being extraordinarily careful not to look anywhere besides his wound. He had been incredibly lucky, and the bullet had bounced off a rib and missed his left lung by a whisker.

"The girl with the pink eyes."

"Jennifer Inxley? The mill owner's daughter?"

"Definitely the mill owner's daughter. The man cheats his workers out of all their wages. I wanted to rob his safe to give them their due payment, but, as you can see..."

"You're lying. You wanted the money for yourself." Rachel said, binding the last bandage a little more tightly than was necessary. Richard winced.

"Who told you that? Our fine Lieutenant Wilson? Did he also tell you I drink the blood of children, or that I break into convents and kidnap the nuns?" Richard (not Red Robin – the two were inherently separate beings in Rachel's mind) said scornfully. "I don't rob people for my own good. I only rob the rich, corrupt landowners to give to the people who need it."

"You're no Robin Hood." Rachel said darkly.

"Robin Hood had a band of men with bows and a beautiful woman. I don't have anything but my sword and my guns. And I look better in a hood."

"Are you seriously making jokes when you've just been shot?"

"I've been shot before. With an actual pistol, instead of a toy popgun."

"Can we discuss something other than you being shot?" Rachel asked, hurriedly moving the image of Richard lying in his own blood with a smoking pistol out of her thoughts.

"How about you not telling Mister Wilson about me being, you know, a modern-day not-Robin Hood when he comes to visit?"

"Since you are both a dangerous highwayman and living in my store cupboard, I don't quite think I have much choice in the matter."

"Do you think I'd shoot you? Or even threaten you at all?" Richard said with a serious tone. "Rachel, look at me. What do you honestly think of me?"

Rachel looked up at his questioning face.

"I don't know anymore. Part of me wants to shoot you with your own pistol here and now for lying to me, and stealing, and _killing. _The other part...isn't sure."

"I would never hurt you. I...I just couldn't. I'd rather shoot myself."

Richard got up with difficulty, and staggered off towards the cupboard, then suddenly his legs gave out and he fell to his knees.

Rachel gasped involuntarily and went over to him.

"Well, I think you have some consolation regarding this event." Richard said wryly.

"What would that be?" Rachel said, helping him to his feet.

"I don't think I'll be doing much stealing, killing and housebreaking for a while with a hole in my chest."


	5. Feathers of A Robin

**A/N: More Red Ribbon for all your 1700s craving needs. Woo. **

**Yes, this is based heavily off of "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes and a book called "The Highwayman's Footsteps" by... um... someone else.**

**Enjoy, and review!**

* * *

**Red Ribbon: V**

Rachel woke up with a start from a dream in which she saw Richard being shot and falling into a fiery pit where an armoured figure with half a face stoked the coals.

She'd been having this one a lot recently since Richard had been shot a week or two ago, and had returned to fleecing the rich and overprivileged and handing out the money to the needy. She hadn't agreed to it at first, but when she saw the good he was doing, she slowly came around to his side.

That didn't stop her worrying constantly about him being shot again, which, she reminded herself, had _nothing _to do with both his ridiculously handsome smile and endearing kindness (bar stealing, murdering and generally breaking the law). She also worried about someone recognising his attire and piecing things together, so she resolved to do something about both problems.

Rachel swept her cloak from the metal hook next to the counter, plucked her basket from its customary home nearby, weaved through a maze of bottles and vials into the store cupboard, then tapped on a barrel to wake Richard up and made for the door. Richard's voice made her turn around just as she stepped outside.

"Rachel? Where are you off to so early?"

She quickly made up a story about going to see Victor to have his useless pistol fixed (she had learned, after Richard climbed in through her bedroom window and scared her into hitting the lent pistol off her bedpost, that the hammer was easily broken), reminded him to change his bandages, shut the door and swung the cloak around her shoulders.

* * *

Garfield Logan habitually rose early; to both tend to his animals and take in some of the fresh morning air. He usually would climb the spiral staircase up to the top of his barn and look out over the surrounding countryside, to see who he could catch a glimpse of. Occasionally it was Victor, who had worked in the forge all night and forgotten to even sleep or eat (in which case he would bring him a slice of garlic sausage, which he was rather partial to), occasionally he spotted Karyan floating around absentmindedly in some of the fields, looking for anything she could use to make those dire concoctions of hers, and occasionally he would see Rachel out with her distinctive long blue cloak and a basket, out picking herbs or mushrooms, and this was the case this morning.

He watched from his perch while Rachel opened her back door (which he was pretty sure led to her store cupboard), stepped out, turned in response to something, then closed the door and headed for the blacksmith's. Probably off to visit Victor for something. He slid back down the staircase and went to feed the horses.

* * *

Victor was hammering at his anvil when Rachel approached. Seeing her, he laid down his tools, wiped his dark brow (a combination of spending all day in a forge and his mother being from the African lands) and asked Rachel in a cheery voice, "What brings y' down to the forge today, Miss Rachel?"

Rachel shuffled her feet nervously and brought a very large horse pistol from under her cloak. "Can you fix this? The hammer is broken. And," she said, looking furtively from left to right, "I need something else. Something, er... a little...different."

Victor took the pistol and appraised its condition. "This is a fine piece, Miss Rachel. It's a surprise the hammer is broken. What happened?"

"I hit it off a bedpost."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "What's your "something else" that y' need made? It's not a ring, is it?"

"No! Honestly Victor, do you ever think about anything else? I need you to make some armour." Rachel said exasperatedly.

"Some armour? What for?" Victor said, already replacing the broken pistol's hammer.

"For Richard. He likes to go out at night, and last week he was hit by a ricocheting bullet fired by one of the Regulars at that perfectly horrid highwayman, and I simply couldn't bear it if he got shot again, and..." Rachel said, her explanation turning into a ramble that she was unable to stop until Victor interrupted.

"I can make a chestplate or something that would fit under ordinary clothes, if that's enough." he said, envisioning the armour in his head already.

"That sounds perfect. How long would this take, because if it's at all possible, I'd like to watch you make it." Rachel asked, ticking a point off a mental checklist.

"It shouldn't take very long...I've been wanting to test some things out, but Lieutenant Wilson doesn't have time for my experimental armour."

Rachel smiled and settled herself on a bench offered to her by Victor while the big man set to work.

* * *

"Miss Rachel? Wake up, the armour's finished."

Rachel opened her eyes to see Victor holding up a metal chestplate with a matte finish. A strange jewel was mounted in the middle of a brown belt that he held in his other hand.

"I thought I'd go with a matte finish, because I don't think this is the sort of thing you want on show." Victor threw the armour over to Rachel who caught it badly, nearly dropping it because she expected something substantially heavier.

"It's light as a feather!" she exclaimed. Victor cracked a grin.

"I designed it to allow the wearer to move as well, no, better than normal. Try bending it."

Rachel bent it effortlessly, then let go and it sprang back into its previous shape. "What is that belt for? The armour already has attaching straps."

Victor's eyes glinted. "That is the crowning glory. Come over here."

He took the breastplate from Rachel and mounted it and the belt on a training dummy outside the smithy.

"Watch." he said, producing the now-fully-repaired pistol and pointing it at the armour. "It's a strange rock I found in the hills. When I clapped near it, all my tools flew away, like they were picked up by a ghost. So, I reckon that it will..."

He fired the pistol at the armour and a strange yellow wall made up of different shaped yet congruent triangles popped up from in front of it, the bullet pinging away into the grass.

"...yes, as I suspected, the rock deflects metal things when a loud noise occurs near it."

"That is incredible." Rachel said in disbelief. "Like magic."

"I take it you approve?" Victor said, taking the unscathed armour and belt down from the dummy and handing it to Rachel, who slid them into her basket along with the pistol.

"I do. Thank you, Victor. It's perfect."

"Isn't everything I craft perfect?" Victor said, a mock hurt expression on his face.

"Do you require reminding of the compass that doesn't point north?" Rachel retorted and headed for home.

* * *

Rachel sat in her room, sewing a black garment that she was secretly very proud of. She finished the final few stitches and held the fabric up, before she checked the time on her clock and went downstairs.

She knocked quietly on the door to the store cupboard and when Richard opened the door in his Red Robin jacket, trousers, and boots she stepped inside.

"Rachel. You know I'm going out tonight; and you know the Crane family stagecoach will be missing some jewels in the morning."

Rachel nodded. "I'm not here to discourage you, I wanted you to have this."

She held up the chestplate and belt. Richard raised an eyebrow but took his jacket off and slipped the armour over his shirt. He flexed experimentally.

"It's incredibly light, and I can move just as well as I could without it. That's amazing."

Rachel handed him the thing she'd been sewing, folded into a neat square. He shook it out and held it up.

"I thought you should wear something other than your old jacket, in case someone recognises it and reports you to the Regulars."

Richard put the suit on and examined it. He looked appreciatively at the shouderpads and gloves, reinforced with extra fabric. His fingers ghosted over the image of a red bird on his chest, its wings outstretched, the tips touching his shoulders. His mouth twisted into a smile and he clipped the belt around his waist, put on his travel cape and slipped the domino mask over his eyes.

Rachel thought he looked the very picture of a romanticised vigilante.

"Well, Rachel, you, well, you didn't have to do this, so thank you." Richard said awkwardly. An extremely appealing idea flickered into his head and he put his hood up, grinning in anticipation.

Then he kissed Rachel briefly on the cheek and vanished out the door, leaving Rachel to gently touch her cheek and stand there in a trance.


	6. A Quiet Stroll with Lieutenant Wilson

**Woop, another one of these. I might have to bump up the rating because of Lawton (who, by the way, is now my favourite character in this) and his foul language. **

**Dat Australian accent. **

**Any actual Aussies who can tell me what a "limey sharkbiscuit" is, please do. **

* * *

**Reviews! Yay! **

**anon: Ooh, first hater! (Of a sort.) I'd just like to remind you that in the midst of your lovely rant about capitalism, you forgot that none of the merchants and businessmen Red Robin steals from are honest whatsoever. Also, communism! And Vodka! **

**psychic soul: I have no idea where this is going either. I got your Red X in here though, so well done me.**

**Velgamidragon: Yes, he does. He even features in this chapter, yays.**

**June Grayson: Loving the name, and here's your update. **

**Edgar Lovecroft Grimm: You asked for some focussing on other characters, and this one's ALL ABOUT SLADE :D And a bit of Garfield and Tara.**

**koryanders: I have no idea what Kite Runner is, so that means nothing to me. Oh well. Glad you're enjoying the dynamic. **

* * *

**Red Ribbon: VI**

Lieutenant Slade Wilson limped along Chessington's main street early in the morning, his Aussie Greenjacket Floyd Lawton and another Redcoat called Redmond Cross at his back.

He winced as he put weight on his injured leg. "Shit." he cursed as the stab of pain shot up through his right side.

"Problem sir?" Lawton asked. For all his flaws, Wilson thought, Lawton was actually a good man to have around. When he first arrived at the barracks, a thin, scrawny young man, Slade had asked him if he had come here to die.

Lawton replied, "No, sir, I came here yestardai."

On top of his enthusiastic Australian personality, he was also a crack shot, boasting he'd never once missed.

Wilson was planning to put that to the test.

His thoughts turned to the other man. Redmond Cross was the youngest man in his company. Charged with pickpocketing in Liverpool and enlisting rather than going to prison, the sly Scouser had a knack for disappearing and then appearing from nowhere. The men had taken to calling him "Red" Cross, because most of them couldn't pronounce "Redmond" properly, and besides, it was easier to shout Red than Redmond in the midst of battle.

"I'm fine, Lawton. Just a little consequence of taking a round to the thigh last week."

Lawton grumbled. "I wish you'd'a let me 'ave a crack at the bastard. Boom, headshot, no more Red Robin. Like _that_."

Slade silently agreed. He could have used Lawton's uncanny aim after Red Robin hit the Inxley house.

"Don' think it'd be that easy, Floyd. He's a slippery wee sod, Red Robin is." Red put in in his Liverpudlian drawl. "Woulda been past you like a whippet with an arseful of gunpowder."

Slade shook his head, smiling inwardly. The lieutenant tipped his bicorne hat to that young Roth girl, clad in her blue cloak and strolling hand in hand with the tall Grayson traveller who'd been in that scrap with Red Robin and taken a bullet to the shoulder or something.

She obviously wasn't aware of anything else but him. Wilson chuckled. It was quite amazing what love could do, he decided.

"Lucky bastard." Red said wistfully, breaking into Wilson's thoughts. "What I wouldn't give to have a bird like that on me arm."

"Aye, I get yer drift, Reddy." Lawton whistled appreciatively. "That limey sharkbiscuit there is one fine piece of-"

"Lawton!" Slade cut Lawton off mid sentence.

"Sorry sir. No denyin' it though."

"Lawton, shut your trap before I do it for you."

"Yessir."

* * *

Slade and his two overly talkative companions continued on their patrol through the town.

"Oi, lookie there, Red." Lawton called, nodding subtly in the direction.

"Whasshappnin?" Cross said, squinting.

"It's that faery gel, like I tolds you about."

"Eh, where? I dunna see any faeries 'nywhere."

Lawton gave up trying to be subtle and blatantly pointed at Karyan Daers, who was browsing a stall some distance away.

Slade tried to recall anything about the girl, but found he knew next to nothing about her, other than her name, and that she lived in the forest.

Red gave a confused look to Lawton. "She ain't no faery. She ain't got no wings or nuffink."

Lawton returned the confused look with a withering one of his own. "How many folk d' you know that wear tartan after the '45 rebellion? Faeries. Tha'd be who."

"Yer an idiot, Law. That gel's from Ireland. Donegal, if memory serve me correct an' like. Tartan ain't banned there."

"Aye, but they still heard 'bout Cool...Coollod...Culldeo..."

"Culloden." Slade supplied.

"Aye! That's the one. Ey, Mister Wilson, sir, weren't that the one where we were all sneaky like on those Jacoites an' sent Bonnie Charlie back o'er ta France?"

"Yes, Lawton. That's the one. Except they were Jacobites, not Jacoites."

"I never got to see Scotland." Red said disappointedly. "Me maw told me it were full of faeries and mermaids and trolls and giants and suchlike."

"I've never seen a faery. Or a troll or giant. They aren't real." Slade scoffed.

"Aye, but that's where yer wrong, Mister Wilson sir. I reckon I saw a faery out on the moors last night. 'T had a bird on it, all red and fiery and that. Held a big yella' rock in it's hands. 'T flew off in a shower of gold dust when I tried t' shoot it." Lawton said conspiratorially.

"Aye, and the devil dodger Doc Light can fire holy beams of death out 'is hands! Pull the other one, Law." Red laughed.

"'S the straight honest truth, I swears! I saw it with me own two eyes!"

Slade felt the time was right to step in. "All right, that's enough out of you two for the moment. Shut it, or no rum ration for the week."

Both men were quiet instantly. "Yessir. Where's we goin' to now?" Lawton asked.

"Up into the hills. There's a mine up there Red Robin ran towards last time we almost had him, and I think that could be perfect for a hiding spot."

"Aye sir."

* * *

Wilson, Cross and Lawton trudged up the small dirt track to the Markov mine.

The Markovs themselves were Russian in origin, though the current owner of the mine was their daughter Tara, who'd been born in the town and lived her entire life out in the hills.

"Lieutenant Wilson! What a pleasant surprise." the daughter in question called cheerily from the mine entrance. "Are ya here for Gar? I'll just get him. Gar!"

Garfield Logan walked out of the mine, a pickaxe over his shoulder. "Lieutenant Wilson. Ah didn't expect ta see ya so far out a' town. What brings ya here?"

"We're really just here to check the house and mine for any places that the highwayman could've been using to hide from us. We saw him coming this way a few nights ago, and'd like to check around, just for safety." Wilson said cordially. "You don't mind at all, do you?"

"Ah course not, feel free." Tara said, spreading her arms. "We ain't got nothin' to hide."

Wilson dispatched Red to search the house, warning him not to lift anything whatsoever or he'd tie him to a cannon and leave him there for a day or two, while he went down the mine. Lawton stayed with Tara and Logan, no doubt shamelessly flirting with Tara and irritating Logan no end, Slade thought with a chuckle.

He coughed as the mine dust entered his mouth. God, he was too old for this.

Wilson checked every conceivable hiding spot and, finding nothing of note other than a bedroll that was probably Garfield's, climbed back up to ground level.

"...an' so I lobs the bugger out the window, there an' then." Lawton's distinctive accent drifted over to him.

"That's a lie, Law, you was never in a bar fight with three Jägers and a seven foot Irishman. It were them three army nurses and that midget Gregory Gismotten from H company you was fightin'." Red's indignant voice chimed in.

Tara and Garfield laughed, and Lawton looked accusingly at Red.

"All right, that's the mine clear. Thank you for your time, Miss Markov, Mister Logan." Slade stepped in, preventing Lawton from throwing Red down a convenient well nearby.

"Ah, it's been no trouble at all." both Tara and Logan replied, Logan somewhat more grudgingly than Tara.

"You've been a great help." Slade said, whistling Lawton and Cross to his side and starting back down the hill.

"No luck sir?" Lawton asked.

"None. But we'll catch the bastard yet." Wilson replied, crushing an imaginary Red Robin in his fist.

"We'll catch the bastard yet."


	7. The Little Girl and the Red Robin

**A/N: Woop, another one! **

**Threw in some Melvin/Raven bonding for the lulz. **

**In explanation of the currency, it's simple: a farthing is 1/4 penny; a ha'penny is 1/2 penny; a penny is 1 penny obviously; a groat is 4 pence, so 2 pence is a half groat. A shilling is 12 pence, so 6 pence is half a shilling; a half crown is 30 pence, or 2 shillings and sixpence; 60p is half an angel and 120p is a whole angel, so 3 & 1/2 groats is sixpence, or two three pences, while a 1/4 angel is 30p, and 120p is ten shillings. 1 shilling is 12p, so 120p is half the pound, 240p, also 2 angels, so 20 shillings is a pound, while 30 shillings is a sovereign. Get it? **

**No? Ach, you Yanks are impossible.**

* * *

**Red Ribbon: VII**

Red Robin looked out across the landscape from the steeple of the church, his trained eye scanning the landscape for anything that might resemble a crooked seatrader and his equally crooked son riding through the night.

He was going to have this Mr. King and his son Jack. Because, as their trade required a great many ships, they would prey upon the less wealthy shipbuilders, have them build a ship for them, then stock the ship with a scraping of grain, sail it off into the night, then mysteriously the ship would sink and the duo would claim hundreds of gold sovereigns from the hapless shipbuilder in insurance and leave them to rot. Then repeat the process.

Tonight, it stopped.

Red Robin caught a glimpse of a pair of horsemen flanked by four lantern-bearing Regulars, bayonets fixed.

It was as if they _wanted_ to be robbed blind and have their ill-gotten gains distributed among the good people they'd cheated.

He smirked and leapt off the steeple roof, his cape flying in the sudden wind.

He saw the haystack below him, and perfectly swan-dived straight into it, landing on the soft bales of hay.

The convoy was passing now. He span out of the haystack and sprinted towards the road, drawing his sword. He flew through the field with barely a noise, then stepped up onto the fence separating the field and the road as the vanguard Regulars marched past it.

The one on the right saw him jump off the fence towards him, pointed, and was about to issue a cry of warning when Robin's sword soared through the air and skewered him through the gullet. He fell to the ground with a choked gasp.

Robin landed on the left man as he was about to fire his musket. He somersaulted over him, taking the musket as he went, then swept the Regular's legs out from under him and threw the musket down into his stomach.

The poor sod coughed in surprise as his own bayonet stuck into his guts.

There were only two Redcoats left. Robin shot one with his pistol, hitting him perfectly in the head and spraying brain matter all over the road.

The last redcoat levelled his musket at him and then time stopped as he pulled the trigger. The hammer sparked the flint off the pan, the gunpowder lit; and Richard thought what an idiot he'd been to get shot when he'd forgotten to tell Rachel about this hit and she'd be worrying herself sick; and why was she at the forefront of his mind rather than him getting shot?

Suddenly, time sped up, and the Redcoat's bullet span out of the barrel. Just in front of Robin, a network of golden congruent triangles sparked into being, the bullet hit one of them, _bounced off, _and flew off to hit King's horse; it collapsed on the ground with a tortured whinny.

Robin looked at his hands. He wasn't dead? _He wasn't dead._

God, that girl was a magician or something.

He looked at the Regular, who was shaking in blank shock at him.

They locked eyes for a second, then the Redcoat dropped his musket and ran.

* * *

King and his son Jack had graciously given all the money they were carrying to him, along with a fortune in jewels, before riding off on Jack's horse, terrified for their lives that the Robin would hunt them down.

The rocks weren't easy to shift; Robin knew a man in Worcester who could see to it that they went to the right people.

Unfortunately, that meant he had to go to Worcester.

* * *

"Um, Miss Rachel? Miss Rachel? MISS RACHEL!"

Rachel was shaken out of her daydream by a small girl in a light pink pinafore screaming her name at the top of her lungs.

"Sorry to shout, Miss Rachel, really I am, but you weren't paying attention, and I really, really need your help."

"I'm sorry I wasn't listening, Melissa. I was..." (she groped for an appropriate word, blushing a fraction) "...I was...er...thinking. Now, what is it that you need?"

Rachel knew exactly what little Melissa Vine and her two brothers Timothy and Thomas ("Teether" to little Timothy, who couldn't say Thomas, being only three) were here for, but she was a little too flustered by Melissa interrupting a delicious fantasy – involving Richard and a moonlit night – to remember.

"You said you would look after us while our Ma is in the city." Melissa reminded her brightly.

"I did, didn't I." Rachel said absently (it was almost twelve noon, and Richard wasn't in the house at all, which worried her more than she felt it had a right to). "Well, you can all come in then."

"We _are_ all in, Miss Rachel." Melissa said, smiling gently. "You already sent Timmy and Tommy up to play in your room ten minutes ago. I just came down to ask for some water."

Rachel sat up straighter on her stool, cursing herself and her overactive imagination. "Sorry. I'm just a little worried about something, that's all."

Melissa swung herself up onto the shop counter and settled herself there. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

"Hmm?"

"That's what Ma says to us when something's worrying us." she added.

Rachel sighed. "It's nothing, it's just something that should be here isn't."

"What's the thing?"

"There's a robin which usually sits by the window, and it's not here, so was a worried it'd been eaten by a cat or something." Rachel said, thinking fast.

"A robin, like that man in the pictures?" the little girl asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Sort of like the man in the pictures. Except without the stealing and shooting people."

"Ma says that's not true. She says that she saw him once."

"Did she?"

"Mmhm" Melissa nodded, "and she said he swooped in through the window and dropped a little bag of shillings and angels on the floor, then he flew out into the sky."

She reached behind her and held up a piece of paper. "Look, I drew a picture."

The paper showed a man with huge black wings and a beak-like hood soaring out of a house leaving behind golden circles on the floor.

"Ma says he does real good to folks like us with no money."

* * *

About half an hour later, there was a knock on the the back door, followed by someone tapping out two bars of Greensleeves.

"Miss Rachel, what's that?" Melissa asked brightly, swinging off the counter and heading for the door to the storeroom.

"Oh, it's probably just a bird." Rachel said, silently cursing Richard and his inopportune timing.

Melissa opened the door to Red Robin looming up like a nightmarish agent of death then, quite unfazed by this, chirped out "I'm sorry Mr Robin, but I think you have the wrong house."

Robin looked down at her then up to Rachel. "No, I think this is the right one."

"How do you know?"

"I was supposed to sit by the window about half an hour ago."

Melissa looked from Rachel to Robin in unfettered excitement. "You're the robin that wasn't here earlier! _That's _why Miss Rachel is all worried. She thought you'd been caught by that nasty Lawton man or something!"

"Did you?" Robin asked Rachel amusedly.

"Only a little bit."

Robin laughed. "I'll leave you to your evening now. By the way, your young lodger is outside the back door. I had to hit him over the head for him to let me in, though. He should wake up in a minute or two."

He smiled his disarmingly handsome smile and vanished from the shop.

* * *

When Rachel's heart had calmed itself down, she elected to go outside (Melissa following her like an overexcited puppy) and get Richard, who had somehow changed out of his Red Robin attire and hit himself over the head.

He groaned and opened his eyes when Rachel shook him.

"You have to stop doing this, Richard." she told him, only half joking.

"Is it really my fault that I was assaulted by a dangerous criminal? More to the point, are you okay?" he said, standing up, wavering terribly convincingly for a second, then rubbing his head. "Damn he hit me hard. I don't think I can quite walk at the moment."

"I'm fine, Melissa's fine, everyone's fine. Now come inside before Mrs Vine appears demanding her children back and wonders what I'm doing out in the garden with the eldest and a man with a sword. This way." Rachel replied, taking him by the hand and leading him back into the shop.

When they were back inside, Richard casually asked "So...how do you feel about a trip to Worcester?"


	8. Soldier Lingo

**A/N: I think I'm on a Lawton and Red spree at the moment. They're just too hilarious not to write. Yes, I know, you want RobRae romance and all that, and I sort of gave you it, but additionally Lawton's Annie is probably going to appear at some point. Or something. Because I love that idea. **

**I don't own Cliff Richard. Because he wrote the song Lawton was singing (Devil Woman), which I also don't own. ****Please don't take my story away, mean Fanfiction lady! **

**Yes, of course Red invented the guitar, he's amazing like that.**

**Glad all you reviewers liked Melvin last time, and hope you enjoy this part just as much!**

* * *

**Red Ribbon: VIII**

The young man marched up to the gate of the camp, the sun bearing down on his cheap hat and coat. The man standing guard, a tall, lanky Greenjacket – white armband denoting his status as an elite soldier – leaning lackadaisically on his rifle noticed him, checked that he wasn't anyone important, then went back to dosing.

"Private Seymour Smith sir, reporting for duty sir, proud to be part of the British Army sir!" the boy said enthusiastically, snapping to attention and offering a salute.

Floyd Lawton (for that was who the guard was) yawned, and seeing the chance to have a little fun, looked out from under his shako and straightened up.

"At ease, ya pommy codger! If y've just signed on then you want to head up yonda and tip yer leg to the bludger with the stripes; get yer kit." he said, purposely broadening his Australian accent. "Stop staring, you fruit loop, it's like you've never laid eyes on a man from Down Under before."

"I'm sorry, what?" Seymour stuttered.

Redmond "Red" Cross appeared out of nowhere behind him and tutted sadly. "Ach, now you've gone an' confused the poor lad, Law. Never mind," he said faux-sweetly to the recruit, "you're here now. On in an' collect your Trotter, your fleabag and your daisies from the devil dodger. Watch out for chats and Jack-Puddings and you should be able t' avoid gettin' chinstrapped or sent to the rest camp with a meat ticket because you're a landowner."

The boy, Seymour, just stood there in shock.

Cross winked at him. "An' we're only bein' so nice because you're so cute. An' by cute we mean weak."

"It's soldier lingo." Lawton put in, smirking.

Lawton and Cross leant on each other while crying with helpless laughter at the expression on his face, until Lieutenant Wilson limped over to investigate what the two were finding so funny (nothing good, he'd bet).

They choked their laughter down and saluted haphazardly to their officer, who was raising his eyebrow chidingly. "Lads, what'd I say about using the 'soldier lingo' line on the new blood?"

"You didn't say nuffink about _not_ using it, sir." Red pointed out, clutching his chest and wheezing from lack of air.

Slade sighed. His two best men were exactly that, but they had a penchant for mischief that usually ended up with someone permanently scarred and/or missing their uniform and waking up in a nursery school.

That didn't mean he didn't know how to deal with them.

"Alright, Red. Get back to your patrol. And by 'Patrol' I mean 'swan about the town until you either get slapped or thrown out of some girl's upstairs window.' It's soldier lingo, aye?"

Red stood up like he'd just had a ramrod shoved up his arse. "Yes sir. On the double, sir." he saluted and disappeared once more.

Slade turned to Lawton. "And you, 'Deadshot', unless you can hit that bottle of gin in Bill Fitzgerald's hand he thinks I don't know about, you're stuck here for the next two weeks."

Lawton lazily pulled back the hammer and casually pointed his rifle, one handed, in Bill's general direction, then fired. The rifle ball flew downrange, ricocheted off an upturned metal bucket and one of the Heavy Cavalrymen's helmets, then smashed the bottle Fitzgerald was drinking from, spraying gin all over his face.

Slade looked on in appreciation as Lawton twirled his rifle around with one hand and then blew the gently rising smoke off the barrel.

"So can I go and watch Red get chucked out a window like the stickybeak bonehead he is, or d'you want me to shoot out the big glass star in Doc Light's hat thing, sir?" Lawton said, pulling his shako back down over his eyes.

"Fine, fine, you two have your fun. I'll have the bloody trumpeter Jericho on watch for you."

The one-eyed, grizzled man limped back into the camp, gesturing for the "new blood" to follow him.

* * *

Slade got Seymour (now nicknamed "See-more" due to his high score in observation tests) settled in 5th Squad of H Company.

H Company, 5th Squad was really where he put the specially talented soldiers, people like Seymour. There were six of them in total: stick-thin but stealthy Kit Wilkinson, almost as quick to disappear as Red; too-clever-for-his-own-good German midget Greg Gismotten; the gin-drinking Colonial scout Bill Fitzgerald, who apparently could be in two places at once; a muscle-bound Irishman with an unpronounceable name that everyone called Mammoth; a lightning-fast redhead called Wallace West, who was having a fairly overt fling with Jennifer Inxley, and now Seymour.

At around ten at night, Slade left them to fight among themselves, like they always did. He went to find Lawton and Cross, knowing in his gut that there was something afoot.

He found Red and Lawton in the village square, standing on a makeshift stage made from a few crates and Lawton's jacket.

Red leaned suavely against the boxes, giving his signature killer smile to pretty girls and strumming an instrument with six strings and a strange hole in the front (which he claimed to have invented, which was probably true as no-one else could even play one note on it) while Lawton (surprisingly well) sang what Slade assumed was an Australian folk song. It went something along the lines of:

_Crystal ball on the table_

_Showin' the future, the past_

_Same cat with them evil eyes_

_An' I knew it was a spell she cast_

_She's just a devil woman _

_with evil on her mind_

_Beware the devil woman _

_she's goin' to get you from behind_

_She's just a devil woman _

_with evil on her mind_

_Beware the devil woman _

_she's goin' to get you from behiiiiiiind_

and then the two stopped playing, bowed and held out Lawton's crumpled shako for passers-by to drop the occasional angel or half pound into.

* * *

In four songs' time the shako was half full, and Lawton contentedly shoved it onto his head, shaking hands with Red and starting up the street until they found Lieutenant Wilson leaning against a fence with a raised eyebrow.

Lawton jumped a mile in the air and Red quickly and hurriedly stated that it was all Lawton's idea and he was roped into this and please don't have him shot.

Lawton looked incredulously at Red. "I thought we agreed to refuse to talk?"

Red held up his hands. "Just lemme blame you first, _then_ I'll refuse to talk."

Slade chuckled. "Just cut me in on your little business venture, then I'll be inclined not to mention your fine singing voice to the rest of the unit, Lawton."

Lawton muttered something about "bloody limey officers" and emptied a third of the shako's contents into Slade's haversack, which still left a rather respectable amount left.

"How much exactly did you get just there anyway, lads?" Slade asked, closing his haversack and patting it.

"That's a military secret sir, but lemme tell ya this: it'll buy a lot of lasses." Red said conspiratorially.

"Bloody hell you're unbelievable, Red." Lawton remarked to his friend. "Can't you jus' find a girl and stick with her for more than fifteen minutes?"

"Uh, when I find the right small group of girls, the seven or eight women who are right for me, then my wanderin' days are over, my lad." Red laughed. "'S only because you can't get over that bird in London who ran the fortune-teller shop by the river. What was her name again? Easy on they eyes, she was."

"Her name," Lawton said reverently, "was Anne."

"Aye, Anne. You talked to her, what, twice, then we were up and gone two month after. Never saw the lass again." Red said. Slade was content to watch as this conversation unfolded, with an amused look on his face.

"Naw, she writes me from time to time." Lawton said defensively. "I promised I'd go back when I had leave, and I'm goin' to."

"You can read? More to the point, you can write back?" Red asked, tripping on a stray stone in his surprise.

"Annie taught me." Lawton said proudly. "I ain't the best at my letters, but I get by."

"So _that's _where all those letters you send to London go." Wilson chuckled. "Didn't take you for much of the love-letter type, Lawton."

"Aye, aye, laugh it up. Mean ol' Deadshot's got a pretty girl waitin' on him in London." Lawton grumbled, kicking at the ground. "I'll be the one laughing when it's Red on th' end of a love letter."

A black horse galloped past them onto the road, two figures mounted on it.

"Oi, where're they off to?" Red said, momentarily distracted from his discussion with Lawton.

"It's that Rachel gel and her good-looking 'lodger.'" Lawton sniggered, his sharp eyes easily picking the two out.

Red smirked. "Runnin' off to Worcester if I'm no mistaken. Now there's sommat for your romance novels, Law."

"Just 'cause I read don't mean I'm into all that shite, you smug bastard." Lawton retorted angrily and sank back into a heated argument with Red, which Slade conveniently stopped listening to.

Slade looked on as the couple rode off into the darkness, the girl behind leaning her head on the man's shoulder.

He smiled a little to himself. It was good to see that even in times such as this love could bloom.

* * *

**Translation of the "soldier lingo" joke goes something like this:**

Lawton: "Stand at ease, you English person! If you're new then go over there and talk to the sergeant; get your equipment. Stop staring, you idiot, it's like you've never seen an Australian before."

**Red: "Go in and collect your haversack, your sleeping roll and your boots from the army chaplain. Watch out for lice and irritating young officers and you should be able to avoid getting too tired or sent to a cemetery with your I.D tags because you're dead."**


End file.
